Cedar. The smell of it, bitter and solid. It cleared her mind, slowed the mild murmur of her pulse, defied her nature. Reined her.
She didn't flinch like before, the first time the silver fur slid down her near-bare back. Nor did she panic as her wrists and ankles were bound, lightly yet firmly, by the blue snakes of cloth. She had grown accustomed, just as she had to the bitter smell. She innately - instinctively knew what these meant to be.
Her pulse quickened again as the wooden coyote mask consumed her, ebony blades taken into her hands.
o-o-o-
The first thing anyone noticed about the girl was the way she felt.
Not the feel of her skin, smooth and so unearthly light, maddening to the imagination. Not the feel of her ethereal mane, pale and almost liquid to the touch. Doubtless not the feel of her barely blue gaze. That was for the ground alone.
No... what one felt about her was always her presence. It was not powerful, not confident, nor cowardly or vain. It was a sort of turbulent self-disgust, a sort of disruption in the normal current that stood out from the rest, a coal among diamonds. A cur among sheep.
They called her The Silent One, and so she was. Never speaking unless told, never praising, never protesting. Of course, they all assumed she could never contribute to the Court with song. Assumed.
Assumed.
o-o-o-
The throbbing of the Drums That Tear Out The Heart bade him to open his eyes again. Knifeslits of razor blue, vaguely annoyed with the disturbance. The musty yet pleasant scent of incense was light in the Court, the nearly invisible smoke wafting from the adjacent braziers. A tense hush fell over those gathered, anticipation rivaling the thickness of the incense.
The Priest Seto did not like it in the Pharaoh's Throne. He preferred more subtle ways, operating through others. He felt too open, too exposed, too vulnerable to all those who cared to look towards him, down at him, adoringly at him.
Reguardless of his caution, the High Priest had little choice in the matter. Pharaoh Atem was holding a private counsel with his High Order, and decided to hold a gala, with Seto throned in his stead. A nice little smooth-over for that morning's fiasco; he could still see Akunumkhanon's sway.
He had meant what he had said earlier, and so for his pharaoh he would endure this grinding predicament, and for his pharaoh he would sit idly on the throne, restraining the urge to retreat to his would-be seating, among the High Council. He hissed lightly through clenched teeth, wishing it would simply end so he could return to his quarters. He would be there then, had it not been for the gala.
'Damn thief.' flitted through his mind as a sweet and provocative note perked from a solo flute. He sighed, deeply in resignition, as the performance began.
o-o-o-
The blue smoke made her gag slightly, but she held her position as it quickly began to dissipate. Crouching upon one knee, head bowed, still-full hands upon the stone-flagged stage; this was how all saw her as the entrance fumes cleared. The flute's note wavered.
The canine mask, devoid of a lower jaw, amply veiled her feature from any view. A cape of silver fur shimmered at the slightest movement, the tapering twin daggers gleaming seductively in the firelight. The flute faded into void, and for a moment the entire Court was silent in anticipation, intrigued into asphyxiation. And then it began.
The soft patter of her bare feet against the smooth stone was lost amid the bellowing thrum of drums and the wailing flute. The sky cloth about her wrists and ankles traced her fluid movements, forming a path of her body as it twisted, whirled, leapt.
A sharp whistling was heard by few as the obsidian blades groped at the air, flickering as the dancer moved. The drums and flute were now accompanied by several pipes, the shrill cries rending those present deaf to their own thoughts, immersed only in the song and dance.
The glacial priest had alone remained raitonal of thought, thoguth they were no longer of his deisre to be rid of the performance. His mind mused to itself curiously as he watched the dancer, but didn't see her. Something else...
His throat tightened, as if a noose had been suddenly drawn.
He felt it.
The song reached its climax as the the drums rumbled fiercely, the flute gave a primal cry, and the pipes peaked with feral intensity. The dancer, whose movements had been becoming gradually deeper and more powerful, poised herself for the final maneuver bowed her head... too deeply.
And then the smell of cedar was gone.
For a moment, she was confused. Instead of the solid scent, the wispy incense overcame her. The feel of cool air met her back instead of fur, the material slightly warmed by her body. The scent was gone. The cedar was gone.The mask was gone. Her heart began to quicken. Mind became unclear.
She felt a clatter near her feet. Heard it. The drums, the flute, the pipes had suddenly died.
A silence fell over the Court. Not silent with anticipation, not intrigued or entranced.
"Stupid wench!" cried the Zati, Talent Master, the squat man waddling furiously over to the dancer, who was still poised upon one knee, frozen in shock. "Stupid, useless wench! How dare you! I'll have your legs broken for shaming the Blade Dance - "
He backhanded her, but she was still too shocked too react much. The incense seeming to be fogging her senses into a kind of stupor... what was going on? What happened?
"It's an ill omen for one to lose their mask during a ceremony..." a noble hissed to his neighbor.
The other noble sneered. "She is the ill omen. I knew it all along... so pale, it simply is not natural - "
" - should have gotten rid of her sooner - "
" - deserves it anyway, would have been a common slave if not for Master Zati's good will - "
"Silence."
All ceased speech or movement, turning their eyes to the High Priest.
He didn't particularly care at this point - let them stare, let them gawk like the mindless imbeciles they were. He didn't mind. He didn't even mind the unintentional offense he had been given by the lost mask, lying forgotten on the stage. He just wished he knew why he rose, why he had ceased the procession of exterminating the now inauspicious dancer, and why in Ra's name she felt like that.